


Strong as Death

by Damerel



Series: In the Long Ago [2]
Category: Numb3rs, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damerel/pseuds/Damerel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>In the Long Ago</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong as Death

Colby was pretty sure this guy wasn’t a hallucination, however unexpected his sudden appearance might be.  He hadn’t been hallucinating, so far as he could tell, for some hours now and he also had no idea why he would hallucinate some middle-aged guy in a suit standing next to his hospital bed and introducing himself as Edward Armitage.  Then again, the talking St Bernard had also been a bit of a surprise, though Megan – who swore blind she wasn’t a hallucination – had assured him it wasn’t really there.  Just as she’d sworn that Evan hadn’t been there either, that he hadn’t turned away from Colby and walked out of his room without speaking to him.  Colby hoped she was right.   
  
He blinked and pushed himself up on his pillow.   
  
“Mind if I sit down, Agent Granger?” Edward Armitage asked.  
  
“Uh, sure,” he said.  
  
“I understand you’re being discharged tomorrow morning.”  
  
“Right.”  That was the first Colby had heard of it.  Or at least, it was the first he could remember hearing of it.  He seemed to have missed a lot over the two days he’d been here.  That’s how long they’d told him it had been anyway; he’d lost all grasp on time for – well, he didn’t know how long for.  
  
“There’ll be a driver here at 1100hrs to take you to your debrief,” Armitage continued.  
  
That was who this man reminded him of, then – Kirkland.  Respectable and eminently forgettable.  Speaking of whom…  
  
“Is Kirkland really dead?” he asked.  
  
“Yes.”   
  
Colby wasn’t surprised.  He’d believed the guy with the glasses but, somehow, he’d still hoped.   
  
“So, am I…?”  He didn’t quite  know how to finish that one.  ‘In the clear’ made it sound like he’d actually done something wrong but with Kirkland dead nobody else would know he’d been acting under orders.  
  
“You’ll be debriefed in full tomorrow,” Armitage said, standing up and passing Colby a business card.  A business card that he found was completely free of anything except a cell number.  “Should you need anything in the meantime, call this number.”  
  
And he was about to walk out the room leaving Colby none the wiser about a single thing, not even knowing if he’d be going back to prison after the debrief.  
  
“Am I still under arrest?” he blurted out.  There were no restraints holding him down now, but earlier he’d been tied to the bed.  Megan had assured him it was simply for protection, both his own and that of the nursing staff, but who knew if Megan had really been there at all?  
  
Armitage turned in the doorway to Colby’s room and looked at him for a moment.  There wasn’t even the slightest hint in his face to give Colby a clue about his thoughts as he spoke.  “You’ve been completely exonerated, and all those originally notified of your arrest have been advised accordingly.  You’re now at liberty to divulge unclassified aspects, should you judge it appropriate to do so.”  But we’d really rather you didn’t, seemed to be the unspoken addendum.  
  
The relief that swamped Colby as Armitage walked away left him feeling suddenly weak.  He knew it wasn’t over yet.  He’d done some things he really wished he hadn’t had to do – and at that point his mind flinched away from thinking about it because he still didn’t know how he was going to tell Evan – and there was the small fact that he’d been reporting back on his own team ever since joining them.  But he was cleared.  Free.  And, against all his expectations, alive.   
  
He’d been surprised to wake up in a hospital bed, unhurt except for the deep ache in his chest and the soreness of muscles that had spent hours in spasm, the need to move almost unbearable and always unattainable.  He remembered - or thought he did – a final needle that had supposedly contained potassium chloride, but then he also thought he remembered the FBI arriving and that had seemed just a bit too good to have been true.  He should have asked Megan about it, but by the time he’d been able to think about anything other than dodging the damn needles that kept coming at him, and trying to work out what was and wasn’t real, she’d been gone.   
  
He didn’t know what had happened, but perhaps it didn’t even matter all that much.  What mattered was that he was, at last, free of it all.   
  
For the first time in too many years he could breathe again.

 

*****

  
Her lungs were burning as she ran as fast as she could, away from the gunfire and toward the gate.  Adrenaline might lend her feet swiftness but it didn’t stop her lungs craving air and she sobbed as she ran, promising herself that if only they all got out of this she would spend _so_ much longer in the gym every single day.  She didn’t remember the gate being this far from the village on their way this morning.  Major Lorne’s easy conversation as they’d walked had made it seem no distance at all, and had been so different from the whip crack of an order he’d given over her earpiece just minutes ago for her to fall back to the gate _now_ and call for back-up.   
  
It was like those dreams where you were trying to run but couldn’t move.  No matter how fast she ran, it wouldn’t be quickly enough.  She put everything she had into covering those last yards to the DHD and dialling Atlantis, giving her IDC.   
  
“Dr Lindsay,” she got out, panting wildly.  “We need back up _now_.  Major Lorne’s team, under fire.”  And then her legs started trembling and the only thing holding her up was the DHD as she hoped against hope she hadn’t been too slow, that the help that was now coming wouldn’t be too late.

 

*****

  
Colby hoped they’d be able to tell him at the upcoming debrief what had happened.  He had no idea how he’d gotten off the freighter, what had happened to the guy with the glasses, nor what had happened to Dwayne.   
  
He was thinking back through it all when he realised that the only clothes he had with him were prison issue.  There was no damn way he was going to walk out of the hospital in those stinking things.  He wondered who there was he could call who might be willing to do something for him and came up absolutely blank.  The team was out of the question.  Evan too, for different reasons.  He decided in the end that Edward Armitage could earn the money the government paid him and called the number on the card.   
  
The man who answered wasn’t Armitage but he knew who Colby was.  When Colby asked if somebody could go to his apartment and get some clothes and shoes for him for the next day, he wasn’t in the least surprised that the man on the other end didn’t ask where his apartment was, nor where to bring the clothes to.   
  
Instead, another instantly forgettable, if considerably younger, man appeared in his hospital room just as he’d finished trying to choke down something that was rather optimistically called fish pie.  The guy had a suit bag over his shoulder – and Colby knew damn well he didn’t own a suit bag – which he hung up, plus another bag that he put down by the side of the bed.  
  
So far, so good, but then the man opened the soft leather attaché case he’d also been carrying and instead of some sort of official-looking paperwork, he pulled out a furniture catalogue.  Colby’s head started to ache at the return of the hallucinations.  The St Bernard had at least been cuter, if somewhat disturbingly insistent about going home with him.  
  
“You might want to choose a new couch and mattress,” the guy said, and the catalogue felt heavy and unexpectedly solid in Colby’s hands.  “Call the number on the front and we’ll arrange for them to be delivered tomorrow morning.”  
  
Colby stared at him.  “You’re trying to tell me you’re a furniture salesman?  In _that_ suit?”  
  
“I can neither confirm nor deny that, Agent Granger,” he said primly.  The hint of a laugh in his eyes reminded Colby of Evan, the way he’d seem to be buttoned-down and dutiful but with that subversive streak of humour that came through at the most inappropriate times.  
  
“Is the Bureau paying?”  First things first.  Prioritisation was one of his strengths, or so Evan told him, usually when he’d put off doing something else in order to do Evan.  
  
“There’ll be no need for you to file an administrative claim,” Evan-lite said.   
  
That was the best news he’d had all day.  Not that that was saying all that much.   
  
Once he was alone again he started flicking through the catalogue.  He’d been involved in enough searches of suspects’ property to know just why he’d need new stuff.  It hadn’t been something he’d thought of in relation to himself, though.  
  
Choosing a mattress was easy – another king-size, pocket sprung, good quality one that would last years even with his and Evan’s best efforts – and he decided in a rush of rebellion not just to replace his couch with something similar and inexpensive but to go all out and get the monstrously-sized leather couch the catalogue featured on its front cover.  It looked big enough for him and Evan to make out on without cramping their style one little bit, and he might just have a slight hankering to hold Evan down on the purportedly butter-soft leather while he fucked him.  Or to have Evan pin him down and fuck into him, with that same smooth leather against his skin.  He wasn’t fussy which way it went.  He just knew that leather and Evan seemed like a good combination.  
  
He phoned his choices through.  Then he lay back against the pillow, watching the minutes tick by and trying not to think too hard.  What was done was done.  He’d never wanted to do it, but he couldn’t undo it, either.  He just hoped that when it came to it, Evan, David, Don – all of them – would understand.  Remembering David’s furious contempt and the look on Don’s face, he wasn’t sure it was going to be possible to find a way back.   
  
And that wasn’t counting Evan.  He didn’t know if Evan would know anything about any of this – wherever he was posted, they seemed not to get too much in the way of domestic newsfeeds – but Colby had disappeared off the face of the earth for five and a half weeks, which Evan was definitely going to have noticed.  Even if by some stroke of luck he hadn’t, Colby would have to tell him everything.  He wasn’t looking forward to it.

 

*****

  
Sheppard had a really bad feeling about this.  He knew that, if he’d been able to, Lorne would have sent one of his men back to stay with Dr Lindsay.  The fact he hadn’t was not a good sign.  Lindsay had been waiting helplessly on her own by the gate, not even close to any cover, practically wringing her hands when they’d stepped through.   
  
They’d double-timed it to the village despite the lack of daylight, Lindsay proving to be a willing but pretty damn useless source of information.  Turning off the main street where she indicated, they found that the building where she’d left Lorne and his team was now a burned-out ruin, tendrils of smoke still rising from its remains.  
  
Leaving her with Rodney, John led Teyla and Ronon into the dark shell of the house to do something he’d hoped he’d never have to do again in this lifetime - search through charred ruins while hoping desperately that he wouldn’t find what he was looking for.

 

*****

  
The car dropped Colby outside his apartment building and, on letting himself in through the door, using the key Evan-lite had left in his bag, he was greeted by a smell of new paint, a series of packing boxes stacked in the middle of the floor, a huge dark brown couch that dominated the living room, and a feeling of relief as the lock engaged behind him.  He leaned back against the door to be extra sure he was both safe and alone.  He was still dazed by what he’d learned at his debrief: that Dwayne was dead because of him, that Don and the others hadbelieved in him and come for him, despite everything – and reading between the lines, Don was now in a pile of shit for all the protocols he’d broken – and that David, who’d shown the most hatred towards him for what he’d done, had been the one to bring him back, refusing to give up on CPR even when it had seemed like a lost cause.  
  
There’d been some nice words for Colby at the end, things about duty and service and sacrifice, but while those things had been important to Colby once, all he wanted now was for things to go back to how they had been.  And not to think about Michael Kirkland, tortured until his body gave out, or Dwayne, dying to save Colby.  One final act that ensured Colby would never be free of him.   
  
It seemed like the world was off its axis and he couldn’t get his balance.  He might be back in his apartment with his name cleared and his reputation restored, but things had changed and nothing would ever be quite the same again.  He needed to talk to Evan, or at least email him, the nearest they could get to talking on Evan’s current posting.

Looking to the corner of the living room where his PC lived he found that it was, of course, gone.  That was when the significance of the packing boxes hit him, and he searched them till he found the one containing his PC.  In a smaller box that had been left on the table, he found his essential bits and pieces – his cell phone, wallet, keys, even the RF detector he’d used to sweep his apartment for bugs.  He shouldn’t be needing that any more, but it wouldn’t hurt to check one last time before ditching it. 

Saving the rest of the unpacking for later, he put his computer together, made himself a black coffee – he really would need to go out and get some groceries before much longer – and sat down to write the hardest email of his life.  He’d thought about what to say to Evan when it was all over.  He’d spent probably way too long thinking of exactly that when he was in prison.  But the difference between what he wanted to say and what he _could_ say, knowing that everything would go through the military censors, was even harder than he’d anticipated.  It was almost an hour before he was finally happy with the few lines he’d managed to put together.  His words were faint echoes of what he meant, but Evan would know that.  They were old hands at this, after all.  Before he could second-guess it yet again, he hit ‘send’.  
  
He got his stuff together to go down the beach, but in between he kept checking his inbox.  There were usually a few days between sending anything and hearing back but there was no harm in looking.  
  
No answer had arrived by the time he left the apartment.  He needed to be out in the fresh air.  Thinking about being out there on the water had been one of the visualisation techniques he’d used during those long days in the cell.  At least his counter-interrogation training had come in useful for something, though he didn’t think another of his visualisation techniques would have met with his instructors’ unqualified approval, involving as it did Evan spread out on Colby’s bed, wearing nothing except his dog tags.  
  
  
  
It was after dark when Colby got back to his apartment, a sack of groceries in one hand and his board under his arm.  It hadn’t been quite the catharsis he’d been looking for - his muscles had been weak and his balance off.  Maybe his body was still unhappy with what that Lancer guy had done to it.  He’d ended up getting dumped a hell of a lot more than usual, and even when it had gone right, it hadn’t stopped that feeling that was gnawing away at his gut, that would carry on doing so until he heard back from Evan.   
  
The first thing he’d done on getting out of the water was check his email on his cell.  There’d been nothing from Evan but he’d picked up a voice message from the office of the Assistant Director In Charge, telling him to report at 11.30 the following morning.  
  
Sleep evaded him that night, and he spent most of it refreshing his inbox and writing another email which he sent to Evan.

*****

  
John stood on the gate room balcony and watched the recovery team bringing Lorne and his men back through the gate.  Pitiful remains on stretchers, placed in body bags out of respect to the dead.  
  
He’d known, deep in his gut, as they’d gone in, before they’d found anything.  Finding that burned body, with the just recognisable remains of an Atlantis uniform fused to it, had left no room for doubt even before he saw the dog tags.  And God help him, but as he’d lifted them up to read them, even in his anger and grief at the loss of one of his men, he’d found himself hoping it was one of the others, one of the team members he didn’t know, not Lorne.   
  
Of course he’d been wrong.  Lorne wouldn’t have been the man he’d been if he’d left one of his team to die.  Of course he’d have been there in the middle of it all, fighting to the end.   
  
After Ford, John hadn’t wanted another 2IC, let alone one that SGC foisted on him.  It had felt like giving up on Ford.  There wasn’t anything wrong with Lorne, it was just that he wasn’t Ford.   
  
And then John had gotten to know Lorne better and, while he wasn’t Ford, he was bizarrely well-suited to John’s style of command, seeming to adjust with no problem and a perpetually amused expression in his eyes to the unique challenges of life in Pegasus, while never losing his sense of military structure.  He’d been the perfect XO.  And John had ended up _liking_ the smart-mouthed duty-obsessed major, to the point of almost worrying about how withdrawn he’d become since finding out about that Granger guy a month ago.  That Granger guy who’d so obviously been more than just a buddy and who’d let Lorne down so badly.  Almost as badly as John had let him down.   
  
He kept his eyes on the stretchers as they were carried through the gate room, with Rodney beside him, his usually mobile mouth pressed into a tight line.  They stood there together in silence, giving Lorne, Shelby, Garcia and Harrison the recognition and respect they deserved on their final return to the city.

 

*****

  
Colby tried not to fidget.  It was tough going, though; this was the first time he’d worn a tie for about six weeks and his best suit was more uncomfortable than he remembered.  The assessing gaze of the ADIC’s Executive Assistant, a lady in her fifties who reminded him uncomfortably of Mrs Clark from 21B with her penetrating gaze, self-possessed air, and immaculate dress sense, wasn’t helping his nerves as he sat and waited to be called in.  He didn’t know what sort of reception he was going to get after he’d spied on the FBI, even if in the end it had turned out that they weren’t the ones with the rotten apple, and he really wanted to stay with the Bureau and do the job he’d signed on to do in the first place.  
  
“You may go in, Agent Granger,” Mrs Clark Jr said, and what the hell?  How did she do that?  There’d been no signal from the office that he’d noticed, and he was a trained agent.  
  
He pushed the door open and found the Assistant Director was on his feet, moving round from behind his desk with his hand outstretched, the smile on his face completely belied by the steeliness of his eyes.  
  
“Agent Granger,” he said.  “Good to see you back on your feet.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
He sat down at the AD’s urging and as he took in the sheer amount of chrome, glass and leather on display in this top floor office he felt any faint pangs of guilt about his choice of couch wither and die.  
  
“I understand you’re cleared medically for return to duty.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  It had taken a little persuasion but the docs had finally relented.  
  
“Good.  Ah, thank you, Miranda.”  Colby tried not to jump as a china cup of coffee suddenly appeared in front of the AD and then another one was placed in front of him.  He nodded his thanks to Miranda, who closed the door behind her with a discreet click.  
  
“A number of people have spoken highly of your actions,” the AD said, though the tone of his voice seemed to indicate he hadn’t been among them.  Fair enough – Colby had been undercover in his office without his knowledge.  
  
“In fact, I’m very pleased to be able to inform you that you are going to be awarded the FBI Medal for Meritorious Conduct for your extraordinary and exceptional service.”  
  
Colby thought for a minute he couldn’t be hearing this right, but then pulled himself together as he realised the AD was very obviously awaiting a response from him.  Preferably a gushing one, he gathered.  
  
“Uh, thank you,” he fumbled, and totally failed to say whatever more was expected of him.  
  
The AD was silent just long enough to underline his deficiency before continuing, “Evidently your exemplary actions provide us with an ideal opportunity to inform the public about the work the FBI is doing on their behalf from the LA Office.  This was cleared for release this morning.”  
  
‘This’ was a piece of paper, topped with the words ‘Press release’ and Colby’s Bureau picture which he hated because it made him look like a skeevy seventies porn star.  That’s what Evan said, anyway, and Colby couldn’t actually argue with him on that one.  
  
He read through the text while drinking his coffee, and it didn’t take long for Colby to realise just why the AD was so keen on promoting his ‘exemplary actions’ when he was just as evidently pissed as hell that Colby had been spying on his agents.  Along with embarrassingly effusive claims about what Colby had done, there were several references to the LA Office and its Assistant Director In Charge, Walter Merrick, and most of the first and final paragraphs consisted of soundbite-friendly quotes from the very same ADIC.   
  
Colby shrugged mentally; it wasn’t as if any of this really meant much anyway.  What was more important to him right now was how the team downstairs would receive him.  
  
And that was suddenly a very pressing concern as the AD, with a practised ease, indicated that the interview was terminated, bidding him to sit tight downstairs while he waited for his next posting to be communicated to him.  
  
“If you have any queries from the press as a result of any of this, you have no comment to make and will put them through to this office,” he said as Colby’s hand was already on the door handle.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Colby agreed, and then found himself on the other side of the door where Miranda had another victim squirming under her scrutiny.  
  
He ducked into the men’s bathroom before heading down to Violent Crimes, needing to make sure his tie was still straight before he made his appearance there.  He had the feeling that the worst part of the day was still to come.  
  
  
He’d been right in that, he decided when he finally arrived back at his apartment that evening and gratefully opened a beer.  Despite Megan’s quiet welcome and acceptance it had been a spectacularly crappy day.  The stares and the whispers had been expected but he hadn’t realised just how guarded Don would be with him, calculation and suspicion evident in his eyes the few times he spoke to Colby.  David had only spoken to him when Colby had physically cornered him and forced him to.   
  
Colby knew he had to go back into the office again tomorrow and every day thereafter, but right now it felt like the last thing he wanted to do.  The hostility and suspicion was bad enough; the knowledge of what he’d had and the fact that he was the one responsible for its loss, was worse. 

And there was still nothing from Evan, despite Colby checking his personal email account with increasing frequency through the day.  He’d give anything right now for Evan to walk through the door and tell Colby he’d been given unexpected leave.  Even if he was mad as hell at Colby for what he’d done, Colby just wanted to see him.  For Evan to be there, grounding him, somehow making sense of the confused mess that his life had become.

*****

  
It was far from the first time he’d had to do this.  It wasn’t even the worst time he’d had to do this.  But John Sheppard, Lt Col USAF, didn’t want to do this.  He didn’t want to take those dog tags that meant he’d failed his people and send them home to Earth, to more grieving families, without being able to give any explanation or justification because of Atlantis’s secrets.  And while he knew - God, he _knew –_ that having a reason for their loss didn’t make it hurt any the less, it did at least help to make some sort of sense of that sudden gaping absence.  
  
But he couldn’t give that to Lorne’s family, nor to the families of any of Lorne’s team.  They could never know the way they’d stood, the last line of defence, between Earth and the Wraith that wanted to destroy them all.  
  
He spent longer in his office than he had for a long time – since Lorne had come to Atlantis, he realised.  It said everything that Rodney left him alone for this.  They were about as good as one another when it came to talking about anything, but the fact he’d been here for hours and Rodney wasn’t bugging him showed that he knew what it cost John each time he had to write one of these letters.  Letters which were so hollow compared to the reality, but so desperately important to the person receiving them, the last part of the person they’d loved.   
  
He screwed up the piece of paper in front of him, pulled a fresh sheet close, and tried yet again.  
  
 _Dear Mr and Mrs Lorne,_  
  
 _I had the honour of serving with your son…._  
  


*****

  
Colby was at his desk early the next morning.  It wasn’t as if he had anything much to do there right now but if he were to have any chance of patching things up, it seemed like a good idea to at least show up on time.  
  
The press release that had been shoved in his face appeared to have been made public, because the mail he got at the office that day included some weird stuff.  There were letters from people he’d never heard of who wanted to thank him for his service, which was odd but nice, but there were also letters from people who seemed to want to thank him up close and personal.  It almost made him worry about opening his mailbox back at the apartment in case any of the crazies wanting to do all that stuff to him had found his home address.  He didn’t know what to do with the letters but, after talking to the Bureau’s PR office, he sent them on to be answered.  Or in some cases, he hoped, burned.  
  
Sighing, he checked his email.  And maybe, possibly, sent another one.  Just in case the others hadn’t gotten through.  
  
That afternoon he managed to persuade Liz to take him out to a crime scene, and it felt good to get back out there, to do what he knew he was good at.  Liz was pretty cool, considering; she even seemed to think that David might come around in the end.  He hoped so.  God, he hoped so.  David had been his best friend, the first person he’d ever trusted enough to tell about Evan.  He’d just have to be patient and hang on in there, and hope.  
  
It would be easier to stay optimistic if Evan would answer him, though.  
  
  
When he got back to his apartment building that evening, he was relieved to find his mailbox didn’t seem to have anything out of the ordinary in it, just bills and junk mail, which he snagged to look through upstairs.  Checking his cell as he walked down the corridor, he was so focused on the inbox on his screen, still empty, that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings.  That turned out to be a serious mistake.  
  
“Colby Granger!”  
  
He froze before turning slowly round to find Mrs Clark from 21B bearing down on him.  Galleons in full sail crossed his mind.  Running away also crossed his mind, but he had the feeling that running away from a lady in her mid-eighties might mean he’d have to forfeit his new medal before he even got it.  
  
“Mrs Clark.”  He greeted her nervously, wondering what he’d done wrong this time.  
  
“Oh, I _am_ glad you’re back,” she said surprisingly, grasping his forearm tightly.  “It’s been such a worry, not knowing what was going on and all those people in and out of your apartment as if they owned the building.  They were extremely rude, you know.  But your friend said it was simply a mix-up.  As soon as I saw the sand in the hallway this morning, I just knew you were back.”  
  
“Sorry,” he said, more out of habit than anything else.  
  
She looked him over carefully.  “Well, I suppose you can be let off this once,” she said at last, “because we have missed you, you know.  But you must make sure you clean your board properly in future _before_ you come into the building.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  He fought the urge to salute, even as he was still working through everything she’d said.  “A mix-up?” he asked, wondering what cover story had been put out there.  
  
“That’s what your friend said when he was here last month.  Nobody else would tell us anything.  They were terribly rude, you know.”  
  
“My friend?”  For an instant he was worried that another operative had been there, maybe putting her and others in danger.  But as she looked at him as if he was slightly mentally deficient – the way she usually looked at him, for that matter – he figured she could more than hold her own against any mere spy.  
  
“The nice young man with the blue eyes,” she said.  “He’s a military boy, like you.  Strong arms,” she added, and dear God, was that a wistful look on her face?  
  
 _“Evan?”_  
  
She looked a little offended as she released her grip on his forearm.  “I didn’t ask his name.  I don’t interfere in other people’s business, you know.”  
  
“No, ma’am.”  He ducked his head, chastened by the reprimand.  
  
“He had brown hair, if that helps,” she said.  
  
“About so high?”  Colby held his hand at Evan height.  
  
She nodded.  “That’s him.  He was taking out your trash.  It smelled horrible.”   
  
Evan had been here.  Evan _knew._     
  
He pulled himself together enough to bid Mrs Clark good evening and assure her he would take better care with his surfboard in the future before fumbling with his keys and letting himself in to his apartment.  Evan had known about his arrest, weeks before the truth had come out.   
  
Colby dropped numbly down on the couch and buried his face in his hands.  What must he have thought?  A mix-up, he’d apparently called it.  But if he’d spoken to the FBI, there was no way Evan could have continued to believe that.  Colby – and others – had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to make sure nobody viewing the evidence could doubt his guilt.  Even if he’d gotten Colby’s email by now, he’d spent at least a month thinking Colby had lied to him.  Which, technically, he had, but at least not in so bad a way as Evan must have ended up believing.  
  
He pulled out his cell just in case, but his inbox was still empty.  There’d been times he’d gone longer than this before hearing back from Evan, but he was beginning to get a really bad feeling about this.

 

*****

  
Don sighed, something he seemed to have been doing a lot of lately, as he looked round the bullpen.  Megan was out, another personal day.  She’d taken a lot of those since her DOJ secondment.  Then there was David, who hadn’t been the same since the whole Colby mess started.  Even finding out it was a double bluff hadn’t calmed him down and Don was keeping a close eye and a tight rein on him, not wanting him to blow a promising career over something that nobody had seen coming.  Which left Colby, who’d been in early again this morning, looking like he hadn’t had much sleep.  He now had his head down, working hard at any and every breadcrumb he’d been able to pick up, as if trying to prove himself to the team before he was reassigned.   
  
Don found himself shaking his head, yet again.  It seemed from how Colby was acting now that he was the same guy they’d thought they’d gotten to know over the previous two years, but who the hell could really tell?  Either he’d been an ordinary guy caught in an impossible situation or he’d been a damn skilful operative.  Despite having watched Lancer’s recording of Colby’s interrogation, Don still didn’t know which it was.   
  
He watched as Colby worked his way through the stack of mail he’d had delivered, most of which seemed to be handwritten letters or cards.  That was celebrity for you.  Maybe that was what Colby wanted.  It would be best for him to move on as soon as possible to whatever posting the Director’s Office had in mind, and then the rest of them could get back to being a functional goddamn team again.  
  
Don made his way over to the break room.  He needed more caffeine.  He was just pouring himself a cup of coffee when the door opened and Colby came in.  
  
“You want one?” Don asked, gesturing with the pot in his hand.  
  
“Thanks,” Colby said, looking nervous.  And that was when Don got it.  Shit.  He’d seen Colby corner David earlier and try to talk to him.  He’d seen from the body language that it hadn’t gone well.  So now it was his turn.  Maybe he should have taken a page from Megan’s book and skipped today; he didn’t know what more Colby wanted from him, but he wasn’t feeling all that well-disposed toward the guy who’d caused all this.  Not least because he was still smarting from the latest bawling-out he’d received over the number of rules he’d broken.  The only reason he wasn’t in deep disciplinary-action kind of shit over this was the way it had all turned out.  
  
“Look, Don,” Colby started, taking the cup that Don held out to him, “I wanted to say thanks for what you did.  You risked a lot on me.”  
  
Don shrugged.  “If I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”  And that hadn’t come out quite how he’d meant it, but he just wanted Colby to stop talking.  
  
“I’m sorry I had to lie to you,” Colby ploughed on determinedly.  
  
There wasn’t anything Don could say to that because he was sorry too.  He got the whole spy thing, he thought; he wasn’t happy about it but he could get it.  The fact Colby had been reporting on _them,_ on Don’s _team_ , was another matter entirely.  
  
“You did what you had to,” he said, and made to walk past Colby, out of this goddamn awful conversation.  
  
“Don.”  Colby’s hesitant voice stopped him, and when he looked at Colby he thought he’d seen happier-looking kicked puppies.  But this particular puppy had gone and bitten Don’s hand, so he couldn’t expect to have his belly rubbed like nothing had happened.  And maybe that analogy had gotten away from Don just a little bit.  
  
“What?”  
  
“One of my neighbours said Evan was at my apartment.  Evan Lorne.  Did he – I mean, was he – ”  
  
Despite everything, Don found himself taking pity on Colby’s discomfort, the way his eyes looked vulnerable all of a sudden, and he answered the question Colby seemed to be having so much trouble asking.  
  
“He came to see me when he heard what had happened,” he said, taking a step back and leaning against the counter.  “He was determined it was all some sort of mistake, that you were innocent.”  
  
“Guess you put him straight on that,” Colby said, his voice strained.  
  
“I told him what we knew.”   Don stirred his coffee again, because he was _not_ going to feel defensive over what he’d done, what he’d believed.  “Said we didn’t want to believe it either, but that it was what the evidence told us.”  He looked up suddenly and met Colby’s eyes.  “That it was what _you_ told us.”  
  
Colby couldn’t hold his gaze and studied the floor in front of him.  
  
“He still wanted to see you, even after I told him that,” Don said.  “He’s a good guy.”  
  
Colby nodded, still staring at the floor.  Don pushed the stirrer between his lips to stop himself saying anything further, and left the room.  
  
It took Colby ten minutes to follow him out of there.  Not that Don was watching him.  And Don most definitely wasn’t remembering some parts of that recording and thinking that maybe Colby had been through enough and somebody should find it in themselves to say something kind to him, in spite of everything.  He hoped Megan would be back tomorrow. 

 

*****

  
Colby got back to his apartment from the call-out to the crime scene with just two hours left before his alarm was due to go off.  That was a good feeling, because before he’d got the call from Liz, the night had stretched ahead of him, empty and just begging to be filled with thoughts.  
  
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep for those two hours, he took himself into the office early and spent some time down the gym.  He needed to get his fitness level back to where it had been before all this.   
  
That energetic start to his day seemed to have gotten things moving.  He paired up again with Liz out at the house where the first murder had occurred and they were at last making progress on the investigation.  The hug and the honest welcome he received later that day from both Charlie and Alan eased the weight in his chest for a while too.  The weight that seemed to increase every time he checked his email and found there was still nothing from Evan.   
  
He understood if Evan was so mad at his lies that he didn’t want anything more to do with him.  He did.  Or at least that’s what he told himself.  But he would have expected some sort of reply by now, even if telling him that, not just this continuing silence.  
  
  
  
When he emptied his mailbox that evening, this time keeping a careful lookout for Mrs Clark, he found that along with a catalogue of gardening equipment, so very useful for someone who didn’t have a yard, there was an envelope with Evan’s handwriting on.  He took it up to his apartment and then sat there, looking at it.  The fact that Evan had found a way to get real mail to him, the first time he’d managed it from this posting, had to mean it was uncensored.  That meant it was something private that Evan hadn’t been able to wait to say – and Colby just didn’t know if that was going to be a good thing or a bad thing.  
  
He turned the envelope over and over in his hands, reluctant to open it.  He thought Evan would understand everything if he could just have the chance to explain, but if Evan was so pissed, or so hurt – and that made Colby feel guilty as hell, thinking he might have done that to Evan – that he couldn’t give Colby that chance, then…   There _was_ no ‘then’, in that case.  Everything would be over.  
  
It took him a good fifteen minutes to summon the courage to open the envelope before extracting the hand-written letter it contained.  
  
He read the first sentence, and then he slammed his eyes shut.  He refused to read any further.  If he didn’t read it, it wouldn’t be true.  He wouldn’t be sitting here holding this letter.  One of _those_ letters, the ones they’d all had to write before combat deployment.  It wouldn’t be true.  It wasn’t true.  It wasn’t – it, oh jesus fucking god, _Evan._  
  
It ripped through him and he folded in half, arms wrapping round himself as the letter – Evan’s last words, the last things he’d say to Colby _ever –_ fluttered to the floor.  
  
Breathing hurt.  Everything hurt.  And he couldn’t stop shaking.   
  
Somehow he ended up on his knees on the floor, holding the letter while he smoothed the paper out, over and over, until there almost no sign left of the way he’d mangled it so badly when his fingers had closed on it.  He shouldn’t have damaged it.  It was from Evan.  
  
It was only when he was satisfied it was almost perfect again – though not quite; it would never recover completely from what he’d done - that he held it in hands that were still trembling, and started to read.  It was dated from when Evan had first taken this posting, but the things it said were timeless.  And pure Evan.  Although the words kept blurring on the page in front of him, Colby found himself giving a choked laugh at one point.  And then he got to the end, the simple _Love you. Evan._  
  
And that was it.  That was all.  Nothing more, ever.   
  
Everything blurred round Colby, smearing into a mess of tears and sickness and regret, so much fucking regret that he didn’t know what to do with himself.  Not that it mattered any more.  Evan was gone.  
  


*****

  
When it got to 10am and Colby still hadn’t shown for work, Don called him.  Any agent being more than two hours late with no notification was an automatic red flag, especially if they had a recent history like Colby Granger’s.  Not that any other agent _had_ a record quite like Colby Granger’s so far as Don knew.  No, that entire mess was something the universe had saved up specially for Don Eppes’s team.  And wasn’t that just typical.  
  
He got voicemail the first time, but called back straightaway.  The phone was picked up the third time he called but he didn’t recognise Colby’s voice at first.   
     
“It’s Evan,” Colby got out after minutes of struggling, during which Don wondered if he should be dispatching agents to assist.  
  
Ah, damn it.  Not that Don hadn’t seen this coming, but it seemed unfair to both of them that Colby’s whole spying gig should have split them up after so many years together.   
  
“Take a personal day – ” he started, but jerked to a halt as Colby spoke across him, his words stark.  
  
“He’s been KIA.”  
  
“Colb –” And Don never knew how he intended to finish that sentence, because Colby ended the call.  
  
Don lowered the phone from his ear and stared blankly at it for a moment.  Evan had been one of the good guys.  Straight-up, loyal, funny and easygoing – and now he was simply gone.   
  
Fuck it.  Don would give anything for his last memory of Evan Lorne not to be the way he’d caused the hope and trust in his eyes to fade as Don had set out the evidence of Colby’s guilt.  Guilt that he’d possibly died still believing in.   
  
He rubbed his hands over his face and stared at Megan, who’d come over to his desk, looking concerned.   
  
“Evan Lorne,” he said.  “Colby’s partner.  He was killed in action.”  
  
Megan closed her eyes.  “Damn it.”  
  
Don thought she looked close to tears, not for the first time since she’d been back from DOJ.  He really should get her to talk to him about whatever was going on, but not now.  Really, not now.   
  
He braced himself to go tell David.  From what he’d gathered, David had gotten to know Evan quite well, given the amount of time David and Colby spent – used to spend – together outside of work.  Whatever David’s opinion of Colby these days, it wouldn’t be easy news for him to hear.  
  
Don fought the urge to kick something, hard.  What the hell had happened to just coming into work, catching some bad guys, and then going home?  Instead, the universe seemed to have a personal fucking grudge against his team.

 

*****

  
Colby figured this was what old age probably felt like.  His whole body hurt, nothing worked as it should, and he was bone tired.  He wanted everything to stop, for it all to be over, but the world kept turning.  Even when Don had called and Colby had said it out loud, the world hadn’t ended.  
  
Evan’s letter was carefully folded and put away in its envelope on the bookcase.  He didn’t need to read it any more because every word was burned into his brain.  That didn’t stop him touching it every now and then.  But it wasn’t enough; he needed something more, and he started rooting through the packing boxes, searching for the photos he knew he’d had.  Despite the whole digital age, Evan was still insistent about printing some of them out, something to do with being able to see colours and shapes differently on paper from how they were when on a screen.  It was the artist in him, Colby thought, but he didn’t know enough about art to know if he was just spouting crap when he said that to Evan.  And he never found out because Evan’s response was always to smirk and do something about putting the artist in Colby instead.  
  
He found the box with the photos in, ones of Evan scattered through with ones of various other friends as an alibi for anybody who might have been snooping.  And it didn’t take at all long for him to realise what a fucking awful idea this had been because each photo blurred in front of him, until he was spending more time wiping his eyes than he was looking at the pictures.   
  
He ended up clutching his favourite photo of the two of them like some sort of talisman to ward off the thoughts that had been circling him all night.  It had been taken their first full weekend together, when they’d gotten a British tourist to take the shot of the two of them with the Garden of the Gods as a backdrop.  It looked legitimate to anyone who might see it – just two buddies with arms slung round one another’s shoulders as they mugged for the camera - but their smiles and the happiness in their eyes always took Colby right back there, to that moment.   
  
And that was what was eluding him now, because all he could think of was what Evan must have thought of him at the end.  Even if somehow he’d found out Colby was innocent of treason, he’d still betrayed Evan’s trust and had never had the chance to explain that.  Now he never would.  All those abstract notions of duty and honour meant nothingalongside the knowledge that Evan had died believing Colby had betrayed him.

 

*****

  
David went to church that night.  The church wasn’t the denomination he’d been raised in but he figured if there was a God up there, then he wouldn’t care about any of that nonsense.  His grandma had been a religious woman – his mom too, when she could find the time in between working two jobs and bringing him and his sister up – and while he’d drifted away long ago, finding it too hard to keep believing in anything with what they saw on the job, this felt like the right thing to do.  He sat in the hushed silence, thinking about Evan Lorne, about the sacrifice he’d made for his country, and wishing him Godspeed on his journey.  
  
He’d liked Evan, a lot.  He’d liked him a hell of a lot more than he’d liked Granger at first.  Then again, Evan hadn’t nearly gotten him killed the second week they worked together.  It wasn’t too hard to outshine Granger on that one.  
  
The suddenness of death took David by surprise, even now.  No matter how many times he saw it, no matter how many times he caused it, the swiftness of the change from living person to nothing more than an empty shell still shocked him on some fundamental level.  David had been so furious out on the freighter, refusing to accept the same thing would happen to Granger right in front of his eyes, and that’s why he’d kept on with the chest compressions even after Don was beginning to admit defeat.  And somehow, against all the odds, they’d gotten Granger back.  Not so Evan, though.  He didn’t want to think of Evan like that, not the guy who’d been so full of life and mischief.  
  
He lit a candle for Evan on the way out and, after a moment’s hesitation, lit one for Granger as well.  No matter what, he knew Colby had loved Evan.  He’d always been like a kid set loose in a candy store whenever he’d heard Evan had gotten leave.  It was annoying, but kind of cute.  That’s what Megan said anyway; David would never think of his partner in those terms.  The cute part.  The annoying part he thought _all_ the time.  
  
The peace he’d begun to find deserted him as he drove home, the whole mess with Granger rattling round his head again, because for a moment he’d forgotten that Granger had never _been_ his partner or his friend.  He’d just been acting a part to get information on David and pass it back to his spymasters.  David didn’t know if he was more furious at himself for being fooled so easily, or at Granger for his lies and deceit.  
  
  
Next morning, when he found Granger already at his desk, he found it a little harder to hold on to his anger.  Granger looked like a ghost.   
  
“I’m sorry, man,” he said, as he sat down at his own desk.  Granger nodded.  He didn’t look at David, but that was understandable.  Also, kind of a relief.  
  
They both got on with their work.  Megan brought Granger a coffee some time later, and said something to him.  Don too stopped by and had a few words, his hand on Granger’s back as they spoke.  After that, Granger disappeared for a while.  Not surprising.  More surprising perhaps that he came back and carried on with whatever the hell he was working so hard on.  
  
  
They all worked late that evening.  The case was solved, arrests had been made – and David could just see the tabloid headlines the next morning when they found out their box office darling was guilty of killing his own brother – and now the reports had to be written.  Reports always had to be written.  He thought some days the only reason the FBI hadn’t insisted on them reporting, in triplicate of course, their paper clip consumption was because nobody had yet thought of it.  He certainly wasn’t going to suggest it to anyone.  
  
At length he pushed back his chair, stretched, and got slowly to his feet.  He was done for the day.  Glancing round, he found the team were almost the last people left in the office.  Granger was sitting at his desk, still fiercely concentrating on his report.  While he wasn’t exactly the best at paperwork,  he probably didn’t need to be working that hard on it.  
  
“You – uh, you coming, Granger?” he asked Granger’s back, finding it harder than he’d expected to get the words out.  It seemed like even though his head wanted to do the decent thing right now, the rest of him still wasn’t sure of Granger.  
  
“Gotta finish this,” Granger said, and David felt guilty for being so relieved.  
  
“Hey,” he said, after a minute, still to Granger’s back, and then felt bad about that and moved round the side of his desk.  Granger glanced briefly up at him, and then away again.  He’d been like that all day, unable to hold anyone’s gaze.     
  
“Do you know what the arrangements are for Evan?” he asked.  “I’d like to pay my respects.”  
  
Granger shook his head, his eyes on the screen in front of him.  “The liaison office are going to call me back.  It’ll probably be a while, I’m guessing he’ll need –”  His voice changed, becoming thin and reedy before it splintered, and David looked away to give him privacy.  “He’ll need to be repatriated,” Colby finished in an uneven rush.  
  
“Okay,” David said, which was perhaps the stupidest response ever, but he couldn’t just say nothing.  And even though he knew Colby might not want it, he put his hand on Colby’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” he said, words so futile but all he had.  “Really sorry.  He was a good man.”  
  
He gave Colby’s shoulder a quick squeeze, then left.  He glanced back once he got to the elevator to find Colby still at his desk, shoulders hunched, looking alone and defenceless.  
  
David almost went back for him.  But there was nothing he could do.  There was nothing anyone could do that would help. 

 

*****

  
Rodney’s head hurt, his mouth was dry, and he was fairly certain he was dying.  John was helping him sit up, far too quickly and without suitable care for whatever injuries he’d sustained when whatever had happened had happened.  
  
“What the hell happened?”  
  
“You got gassed.”  
  
Oh, marvellous.  Just another day in the Pegasus Galaxy then.  He rubbed carefully at the sore spot on his head, relieved to find there was no blood on his fingers when he examined them afterward.  That didn’t mean there wasn’t internal bleeding, of course.  
  
“Are we in some sort of trouble?” he demanded of John.  
  
“Was it the gas or the prison cell that was your first clue?”  
  
“Prison cell?”  Rodney looked around, his vision slowly clearing though his head still felt as if he might very well have sustained a concussion.  Oh crap – it really was a prison cell.  And not only was it filled with Sheppard’s Marines, but they’d put some local peasants in as well for additional colour.  Well, wasn’t that just marvellous.   
  
Oh no, now one of them was coming over.  “Sir,” he was saying, and Rodney squinted at him.  
  
“Hey!” he said indignantly.  “You’re supposed to be dead.”  
  
Major Lorne shrugged slightly, an annoying move he’d picked up from John.  “Sorry to disappoint.”  
  
“And what on _earth_ are you wearing?”   
  
“I thought it was natty,” John said.  
  
“Thanks, sir,” Lorne replied.  “I did too.  The fleas were an unexpected bonus.”  
  
“Fleas?  _Fleas?”_ Rodney got to his feet.  “You keep away from me, Major,” he threatened.  “I’m highly allergic to insect bites.  My physician says my skin is exceedingly thin and sensitive.”  
  
“Well, fancy that,” Lorne drawled, and Rodney would have put him smartly in his place had not a Genii soldier chosen that moment to unlock the cell door for Ladon to talk to them.  And while he hadn’t forgotten that words still needed to be said, getting out of here alive was actually a little more pressing right now.

 

*****

  
Colby sat out on the water in the red of the evening, the waves slapping gently against his board.  He’d known combat.  He’d lost friends, lost men, lost faith.  But he’d never before lost hope, and he found he didn’t know what to do with that.   
  
He sat on his board and watched the last of the light fade from the sky.

 

*****

  
Having seen Ladon safely off Atlantis – sadly without any further knocks to the head to help him on his way; Elizabeth could be such a killjoy – John propped himself against the doorjamb of the treatment room and waited.  When Carson finally looked up from where he was questioning Major Lorne about his bruises, he jerked his head meaningfully.  The look of gratitude John received from Lorne was just as meaningful; Carson was a damned good doctor, but he did tend to fuss.  
  
John walked Carson out of earshot of anyone in the room before speaking.  “Any reason to be concerned?”  
  
“They’re all a wee bit dehydrated – too much blood taken with not enough fluids going in - but with a few days rest, and a few square meals, they’ll be right as rain.”  
  
“And those tests Ladon was talking about?”  
  
“The man might be a brilliant scientist but he’s no doctor.  He took far more blood than he should have done, and he hasn’t the first understanding of human physiology.  Poor Major Lorne looks like a bloody pin cushion!”  
  
“Are they cleared for gate travel?”  
  
“As I said, Colonel, they need a few days rest before going back on duty.  I couldn’t square it with –”  
  
“I’m talking about them gating back to Earth, Doc.”  
  
“Oh.  Oh, I see.  Well I suppose it won’t do them any harm but I’d be happier if –”  
  
“There’s the small matter of their next of kin having received notice of their death.”  
  
“Good lord.”  Carson was visibly shocked, evidently not having yet made that connection.  “I’ll release them right away.”  
  
John nodded.  The first thing he’d done on his return, after a quick sitrep to Elizabeth, was get to Chuck to push through a priority message to SGC.  Word of the mistake would already be on the way to the next of kin; now all he had to do was break it to his men that their families had spent the last few days believing they were dead.  He sighed slightly.  He might be glad of the way it had all worked out in the end, but he still wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.

 

*****

  
Quantico had finally gotten round to returning his stuff.  Colby hadn’t realised just how much personal stuff he’d accumulated at the office till he saw it all together in a box like that.  It made sense, he guessed; he spent way more time at work than he did at home, and in those last months especially he’d been aware his apartment might be searched at any time so he’d brought anything that really mattered into the office.  
  
It was good to get his mug back; those cardboard cups they had in the break room were useless.  He got his autographed baseball out and put it next to his desk phone, where he could pick it up and play with it when he was left on hold for too long, then went digging a little deeper.  The first framed photo he pulled out was him and Evan.  The second was him and Dwayne.   
  
He couldn’t look either of them in the face, the dead men he’d betrayed.  He put the photos back in the box and kicked it under his desk. 

 

*****

  
Evan Lorne had never really understood the personal hatred Colonel Sheppard seemed to feel toward the Genii.  He’d read the mission reports, heard bits and pieces from those who’d been on Atlantis when the Genii had tried to take the city by force, stopped in the end by Colonel Sheppard, but he’d never understood why Colonel Sheppard seemed to loathe them so very much.  
  
As he felt the sobs that racked his parents and his sister, huddled together in an embrace that not one of them seemed willing to break, he got it.  It wasn’t that he’d exactly _liked_ Ladon after the way he’d had his goons pin them all down and stick them with needles on a regular basis, but seeing what it had done to his family – his parents looked suddenly small and frail and _old –_ Evan wanted nothing more than to go find Ladon and kill the son of a bitch an inch at a time.  
  
  
  
Later, when eyes had been wiped and Nicola had stopped threatening to storm the Pentagon single-handedly for making such a _criminal_ mistake, they sat down to eat the meal his mom had been making ever since they’d had the visit from a very apologetic senior officer, who’d turned up on their doorstep to tell them that it had all been a terrible mistake and that Evan would be granted immediate leave.   
  
“Displacement activity,” his dad said, as Evan’s eyes widened at the number of laden plates that his mom was putting on the table.  His dad seemed to have recovered his usual sangfroid and if it weren’t for the new gauntness to his face, Evan would never have known anything had been wrong.   
  
His mom, on the other hand, kept bursting into tears, which was a bit disconcerting when she did so in the middle of offering him some lentil stew, and Nicola kept thumping him.  He guessed that was big sister code for _I’m glad you’re back._  
  
“How are the boys doing?” he’d asked her earlier, when their parents had given them some time alone.  
  
She’d drawn an uneven breath.  “I didn’t tell them,” she’d confessed.  “I didn’t know how.”  And then her chin had wobbled and she’d been in his arms again, punching his bicep while crying into his chest.  He figured her husband was a damn clever man to be able to decode this.  Except he didn’t really mean that and he’d held her tightly and said into her hair “I’m sorry, Nic.  I’m really sorry.”  
  
Of course they’d all wanted to know what had happened, how such a monumental screw-up could possibly have occurred, though by unspoken agreement this conversation waited until after the meal when they were half-way through their third bottle of organic wine.  Not bad for a family who thought anything more than half a glass was pushing the boat out.  
  
Evan had thought about it on the flight from Colorado and realised it would be cruel to give them even a sanitised version.  Telling them of burned bodies…  There were some things his parents just didn’t need to know.  They weren’t stupid – they were as far from stupid as it was possible to be – but there was no need to rub their noses in it.  So he told them he couldn’t explain due to military secrets but that it wasn’t the Air Force’s fault, that the enemy had planned it all very carefully to make it seem as if he and his team were dead.  
  
That was the first his family had heard about the team, and typically his mom was worried for their families as soon as she heard.  
  
“We all got on flights straightaway,” Evan said, and he still wasn’t sure just what strings had been pulled to enable that to happen.  “And we’ve all got a week’s leave that hasn’t been taken from our annual leave.”  How Sheppard had managed that, when he was pretty sure it wasn’t in the regs, he really hadn’t wanted to know because otherwise as his XO he might have had to do something about it instead of simply obeying Sheppard’s order to pack and be in the gateroom ready to leave 15 minutes later.  
  
“Quite right,” his dad said.   
  
“Will you be here the whole week?” his mom asked, “Or are you going to see that young man of yours?  He’ll want to see you too, I know.”  
  
Evan sat and stared at her.   
  
Fuck.  
  
Sheppard had said that their next of kin had been given official notification.  Evan hadn’t even _thought_ about the ‘in the event of’ letters he’d left to be mailed by SGC.  A letter to his mom and dad and Nicola, and one to Colby.  
  
“I - ”  Oh God _._ What a monumental fucking clusterfuck.  If he’d just thought of it, he’d have had that letter destroyed after his whole disastrous visit to LA.  But he hadn’t, and now Colby thought -    Except it didn’t matter what Colby thought, apart from the intense humiliation part of it.  
  
After a while he became aware he was sitting with his head in his hands, and his dad was pulling his mom away into the kitchen.  
  
Nic was on her knees in front of him.  “What’s going on, Evan?”  
  
He shook his head slowly.  “I don’t –”  He sighed.  “I think –  Something happened, and I think it’s over.”  And what the hell was wrong with him?  It was the emotionally charged atmosphere ever since he’d been here, that was the only reason why his voice got thick as he confessed, “I don’t think it ever really existed in the first place.”  
  
“Oh, Evan.”  
  
“It happens,” he said, needing to head this off at the pass.  “So how are the hellions?”  
  
“Hellions?” she demanded in expected indignation.  “They’re perfectly normal little boys until their Uncle Evan comes to visit and winds them up with talk of fast cars and faster jets.”  
  
“They’re hellions,” he said firmly.  “It took me two weeks to recover from the bruises last time I was home.  And that was them _playing.”_  
  
“Well if you _will_ teach them how to spar, what do you expect?  They’ll be so pleased to see you.  Alex too.  I don’t know if he wants to kick your ass or kiss you.  I don’t think he knows either.”  
  
“I think your husband can keep his kisses for you,” he said.  “Please?”  
  
She grinned.  “He’d better.  And Tom has got a new bike he can’t wait to show his Uncle Evan.”  
  
He groaned.  “Tell me it’s still got training wheels on.”  
  
“Oh yeah.  We learned from that whole thing with your two front teeth when you were four.”  
  
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault – you’re the one who dared me to go down that hill with no hands on the handlebars.”  
  
“And you were the one who did it!”  
  
“Children, please,” his dad said, as he brought in a tray with coffee cups on, followed by his mom with the coffee pot.   
  
It was some time before the gathering broke up, with Nicola calling a cab to get home after all that wine.  And in that time, they all said some things that didn’t usually get said, the sort of thing that tended to be reserved for those ‘in the event of’ letters.  And while it wasn’t a conversation he’d ever have chosen to have, Evan couldn’t help but be a little glad they’d had it.  
  
His dad had laid his hand quietly on Evan’s shoulder as his mom went up the stairs to bed after she’d hugged Evan within an inch of his life yet again.  
  
“Whatever happens,” he said, “I don’t want you ever feeling guilty about the career you’ve chosen.  You love it, and that’s what matters most to us.”  
  
Evan nodded, then he clapped his dad’s shoulder and watched him follow his mom, up the same staircase they’d been climbing to bed every night for forty-two years of marriage.  
  
He and Nic sat out on the porch in the night air, waiting for the cab, enjoying the silence after so many words and so much emotion.  Or at least that’s what he’d thought they were doing.  
  
“If you’re not sure,” she said suddenly, “If there’s even a chance, you should find out.  For you and for him.”  
  
And then the cab pulled up and she kissed him on the cheek and ran down the driveway to the road, blowing him a kiss through the window as the driver pulled away.  Damn, that wine must have been strong stuff.  They’d be back to usual tomorrow, no doubt.  
  
Evan locked the front door and made his own way up the stairs to the guest room.  It had been his room as a boy, but it was now painted in light cream with a flower arrangement having pride of place rather than his lovingly-assembled model aircraft collection.  He loved it here and always would, but this wasn’t his home any longer.  For a while it had felt as if home was both in Atlantis and in LA, but that was gone now.   
  
Nic had been right.  He had unfinished business in LA.  While being held in that cell he’d had way too much time on his hands, even allowing for escape attempts and blood donor sessions, and he’d ended up going over things repeatedly.  Either Colby had only hooked up with him because it suited his spying purposes, or, even with the lies Colby had told, there’d still been something between them.  He wanted to believe the latter was true, but all the evidence pointed to the former.  If Colby had cared about him at all, he wouldn’t have prevented Evan from visiting him in prison and he’d _never_ have left him to hear the truth about what he’d been doing from Colonel Sheppard, which Evan still found humiliating.   
  
That knowledge made him determined to go down to LA and tell him in person about the whole not being dead thing.  If he faced Colby and made it clear he didn’t care, that would wipe away any smirk Colby might have had over that fucking letter.  It might not go far toward rebuilding his self-respect, but at least it was a start.  
  
He’d catch a flight to LA tomorrow and lay his ghosts to rest. 

 

*****

  
They’d gotten lucky for once.  Their suspect had reversed into the driveway of his house just after they’d gotten out of their own car, parked by the kerb.  Don walked up to the jeep, nodding at Colby who obediently hung back to provide cover, and tapped his badge on the driver’s side window.  
  
“Tim Hodges,” Don said.  “FBI.  Turn off your – “  
  
That was as far as he got.  Hodges gunned the engine and the jeep shot past him, leaving Don with sore knuckles and a wrenched thumb from where he’d grabbed at the door handle and missed.  
  
“FBI” he heard Colby yell, and saw he was planted in the middle of the driveway with his gun pointed straight at the windscreen.  Don heard shots, but the jeep kept coming, straight at him.  
  
“Colby!  Get out of the fucking _way!”_  
  
At the last minute, Colby seemed to realise Hodges had no intention of stopping, and he threw himself sideways.  Except he’d left it too late, far too fucking late, and the wing of the jeep caught him, sending him flying into the bushes at the side of the driveway.   
  
“Colby!”  
  
The jeep careered down the road as Don ran over to Colby who was lying as he’d landed, not moving.  God, he was _not_ going to have a replay of this.   
  
 _“Colby.”_  
  
At least he was breathing this time.  
  
Then his agent stirred and opened his eyes, groaning as he blinked up at Don from his impromptu nest of greenery.  “Feels like I got hit by a car.”  
  
“You fucking _idiot,”_ Don said.  “What the hell were you thinking?”  
  
Colby groaned again as he slowly sat up.  “Was thinking he might have a bit of respect for the law.”  He took Don’s offered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.  “Ow.  Obviously I overestimated his feelings of civic responsibility.”  
  
“You okay?”  Don asked.  
  
Colby was stretching his arms and legs carefully, evidently checking he was in working order.  “You get the licence?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah.  I’m going to call it in, and you’re going to see the medic.”  
  
“Crap, Don, I’m fine.”  
  
“It wasn’t a request.”  
  
Colby sighed – somewhat over-exaggerating, Don thought - and moved carefully to the car, where he barely stifled another groan as he sat down in the passenger seat and obediently waited for Don to finish up so he could deliver him into the hands of the medics.  Or as Colby tended to refer to them, those blood-letting maniacs.   
  
  
  
“He’s off his game.”  
  
“Ya think?”  
  
Don shot a dirty look at Megan, unimpressed by her response.  
  
She shrugged, unapologetic.  “What did you expect, Don?”  
  
She sipped at her tea as Don made himself a coffee, and they both watched Colby walking carefully across the bullpen with another pile of unwanted letters in his hands ready for the internal post.  He had some impressive scratches on his face from the bushes that had broken his fall, but apart from that he’d gotten away with bruising and some stretched muscles, the doctor had said.  Pretty damn lucky.  
  
“I know,” Don said.  “But I didn’t expect he’d be that bad.  He’s pulled that move before, idiot that he is, and that’s the first time he’s got it wrong.”  
  
“Hmmn.”  
  
“What do you mean, ‘hmmn’?  Thought you were a behavioural scientist, not a doctor.”  
  
“I mean ‘hmmn’.  You might want to talk to him, Don, find out what’s going on in his head.”  
  
“Like I said, you’re the behavioural scientist.”  
  
“And you’re his boss.  I can’t come running to you with anything he tells me as a friend, now can I?”  
  
“I guess,” Don sighed and stirred his coffee.  “So do I take him off field duty while we wait for him to be reassigned?”  
  
Megan sipped at her tea again and watched Colby making his way back across the bullpen, avoiding everyone’s eyes as he did so.  “You don’t think that’ll make it worse?”  
  
“Maybe, but at least this way he won’t get himself or anyone else hurt, or worse.”  
  
Megan shrugged again.  “You’re the boss,” she said, which was singularly unhelpful, except Don knew that _she_ knew that he’d already made his decision.   
  
When he went over to Colby’s desk five minutes later, Megan had just dropped off a coffee for him and was teasing him about his car-dodging skills.  The expression on her face as she went back to her own desk made it clear she didn’t agree with his decision, but then she wasn’t the one responsible for the whole team.

 

*****

  
Colby sat on his new couch and looked at the bottle of whisky he’d put on the bookcase next to Evan’s letter.  He’d bought it on the way home, having been sent home early just to add insult to injury.  He’d known when he was buying it that it was an awesomely stupid idea because if he started drinking it he wouldn’t stop until he’d finished the bottle or passed out, whichever came first, and all that would change would be that he’d wake up the following morning with a hangover from hell.  He’d still have ruined things with the team, he’d still be suspended from field duty because he couldn’t be trusted, and Evan…  Evan would still be gone.  But at least if he opened it he might get through the evening, and might even get some sleep.  
  
He ignored the knocking on his door.  He wasn’t expecting anyone.  There wasn’t anyone he wanted to see.  It was probably one of the neighbours looking for wrongly-delivered mail again.  
  
Levering himself up he went through to the kitchen, finding that his right side, which had taken the brunt of the impact, was really stiffening up.  He got a glass out of the cupboard.  Might as well make a pretence that he was drinking sociably rather than drinking to get blind drunk and pass out.  Not that he knew who he’d be pretending for.   
  
As he came back into the living room there was another series of knocks on his front door, sounding like someone who knew he was in there and was getting annoyed at the lack of answer.  If that was Mrs Clark…   Swear to God, he’d done everything except _lick_ his board clean that last time.  
  
He slammed the glass down on the table and pulled the door open.  And his heart, quite literally, stopped.  
  
“I just thought I should let you know,” Evan said, “There’s been a –“  
  
His heart restarted with a sudden series of thumps that _hurt.  “Evan?”_  
  
It couldn’t be.  It wasn’t possible.   
  
Evan stopped talking, which was just as well because everything he was saying sounded like he was underwater, but he was here and he couldn’t be.  How could he be here?  
  
“You can’t – how – you can’t - oh _jesus_ , you’re _alive.”_  
  
He lunged forward and dragged Evan into his arms, heedless of Evan’s resistance.  When he buried his face into the warmth of Evan’s neck, felt his pulse beating, caught the scent that was so entirely Evan, his knees went from under him and Evan, off-balance, got taken down with him, ending up on his knees in the doorway of Colby’s apartment while Colby held onto him because he’d never let him go again.

 

*****

  
As soon as the door had opened, Evan had gotten started on his carefully-rehearsed speech, but he found the words trailing off when he saw Colby’s face.  Colby looked like he’d seen a ghost, which was hardly surprising; what had surprised Evan was the awful, incredulous, desperate hope that was starting to dawn on his face as he stared at Evan.  
  
As he held Colby’s shuddering body from what was perhaps the most undignified position he’d ever found himself in, one thing became blindingly clear to Evan: regardless of anything else, Colby had always loved Evan just as much as Evan had always loved him.   
  
For a long minute he let himself hold Colby in return, hold him tight and remember how it felt and how much he’d missed him, but it wasn’t safe to give in like this.  There were too many questions still to be answered.  He let go his hold.  
  
“You’d better not be snotting on me, Granger,” he said, shifting slightly to underline the hint.  
  
Colby took one last deep breath and raised his face from where it had been buried still in Evan’s neck.  God, he looked a mess.  
  
Evan started to get to his feet, his knees hurting from the force with which he’d gone down.  “Let’s take this inside,” he said, only too aware of the public nature of their position.  
  
Colby seemed to be having some problems regaining his feet, so he gave him a hand up and manoeuvred him through the doorway before closing the door firmly behind them.  Colby swiped roughly at his eyes and then ran his hand under his nose as he sniffed.  
  
“Well that’s just charming,” Evan said, and wondered for a moment if he’d been spending too much time round Dr McKay.  
  
Colby said nothing but his throat was working as if there were too many questions all battling to come out at once, so Evan cut to the chase and delivered the rest of his prepared speech.  
  
“My team got captured out on patrol and they put our dog tags on some bodies that were so badly burned no one could tell it wasn’t us,” he said.  “Everyone thought we were dead, hence all the notifications.  And then my CO accidentally rescued us.”  
  
“Fuck,” Colby said, and wiped at his eyes again.  “I thought –”  
  
“I know,” Evan said, “and I’m sorry.”   
  
And as he looked at Colby, he really, really was.  He wanted to strip the skin from Ladon in little tiny pieces because, no matter what he might have done, his smartass grunt should never have been reduced to this.  Spotting a bottle of Johnnie Walker on the bookcase, he snagged it and took it through to the kitchen to get some glasses, giving Colby some privacy to get it together again.  
  
When he came out, Colby looked like he’d gotten himself back under control, and took the generously-filled glass Evan held out to him.  He didn’t seem able to take his eyes off Evan, though, which would have been more disconcerting if Evan hadn’t been through the same whole thing the day before with his family.  
  
“You’re okay?”  Colby asked.  “You weren’t hurt?”  
  
“I’m fine.  Speaking of which, what the hell happened to your face?”  
  
Colby gave a weak grin.  “Had a bit of a falling out with a jeep earlier.”  
  
“Ouch.  I’m guessing you lost.”  
  
“Hell, no.  You should see the jeep.”  
  
And damn, Evan had missed Colby.  He leaned back against the table, glass in his hands, and watched as Colby lowered himself onto the couch – and that was one hell of a couch he’d gone and gotten himself.  Evan had seen small countries that would be dwarfed by that thing.  
  
Evan took a deep breath.  “You want to tell me just what the hell you’ve been up to?”

 

*****

  
He told Evan everything.  How it had seemed so simple when it had started, how it had become so serious with people dying, and how he’d hated every last minute of it.  He didn’t leave a single thing out; he couldn’t risk it.  If Evan was ever going to understand, to forgive this, there couldn’t be anything that might come back to bite him later.  He even told Evan about the way Dwayne used to come on to him.  It seemed like that part at least wasn’t a complete surprise to Evan.  
  
He got as far as getting arrested, how it had been planned, and then took a drink, his throat dry from all the talking and from nerves.  
  
“But you know that bit,” he said.  “Don said you were here after it happened.”  
  
Evan’s lashes shielded his eyes.  “I thought there’d been some sort of screw-up,” he said.  Then he looked up, challenging Colby.  “But then they said you didn’t want to see me.”  
  
Colby swallowed.  “I couldn’t,” he said.  “I knew you’d see through me and that would have blown everything.  The only way I could think of to get past that was to tell you crap about us that wasn’t true, get you so mad you’d have just left.  I couldn’t do that.”  He hesitated before adding quietly, “And I didn’t want you to see me like that.”  
  
“What about me?” Evan asked, his voice harsh.  “What did you pass on about me?”  
  
Colby shook his head.  “I didn’t want to,” he said.  “I swear I didn’t, but toward the end I was being watched and if I hadn’t said anything, they’d either have cut me out or they’d have investigated you.  I said you were this old services buddy I’d kept in touch with but that you were a close-mouthed bastard about anything to do with your current service.  Dwayne believed me about that.  I don’t think he ever really liked you.”  
  
“No shit,” Evan murmured, before asking his next question.  The expression in his eyes made it clear that if he didn’t like Colby’s answer to this one, he’d be walking straight out that door.  
  
“Did you say anything about what flight I’d catch coming into LA, where I headed back to when I left, anything like that?”   
  
“Never.”  And if Colby could hear the sincerity ringing through his answer, he knew Evan must be able to as well.  
  
“You still on the spooks’ radar?”  
  
Colby shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  I was only ever involved because of Dwayne, and they wouldn’t have let the FBI do the PR thing if they’d wanted to keep me active.  Not that I’d do anything more even if they wanted me to.”  
  
There was resignation in Evan’s face as he looked at Colby.  “You don’t know how to say no.”  
  
Colby looked back at him, calm and more certain of this than he’d been of anything, ever.  “No,” he said.  “I wouldn’t do it again, not for anything.  It wasn’t worth it.  Not if it meant losing you.”  
  
Evan looked away.   
  
Colby swallowed, because he had to explain it, had to get Evan to understand.  “Everything, everything between us, it was the truth, I swear.  That was the one thing I never let anything else touch, never told anyone, no matter what.”  
  
Evan raised his glass and drained the contents, still not looking at Colby.   
  
And then he _was_ looking at Colby and there was anger in his eyes.  “So why didn’t you tell me when it was all over?  Why the _fuck_ did I have to find out you were innocent through my CO without a fucking _word_ from you?”  
  
“But I emailed you,” Colby said, uncomprehending.  “As soon as I got out of the hospital, I emailed you.”  
  
Evan stared at him.  “You were in the hospital?”   
  
Before Colby could answer, Evan sighed and came to sit on the couch next to Colby, bringing the bottle with him and refilling both their glasses.  
  
“You’d better tell me the rest,” he said.  
  
So Colby did, though it took a lot more whisky to get through it all.

 

*****

 

“You,” Evan said when Colby had finally finished his sorry tale, “are a big dumb grunt.”  
  
Colby looked at him, looking a little too much like a beaten dog who was waiting for the next blow for Evan’s peace of mind.  
  
“Just as well I seem to have a weakness for big dumb grunts,” he said, gripping the back of Colby’s neck and hauling him in close.  “Look, I’m not happy about it, to put it mildly, but you didn’t have a choice.  I get that.”  
  
He leaned those last few inches that suddenly felt like a mile, and kissed Colby.  Colby was just as tentative as Evan, as if he too was waiting for it all to go wrong.  After a few moments of awkward carefulness from them both, Evan opened up at the slightly uncertain touch of  Colby’s tongue, and all of a sudden they were kissing properly, and it was right, and it was _them._ He held Colby close as their tongues met and he tasted Colby again, and he finally began to believe this was real and always had been.  
  
He didn’t have much time for thought after that because Colby was pushing him back onto the couch, using the weight and bulk of his body to hold him down while they kissed.  And it’s not like Evan couldn’t have gotten him off if he’d wanted to, but why in the hell would he want to when Colby was doing that thing he did with his hips shifting teasingly against Evan.  
  
Colby was wasting no time at all.  Evan sucked in a breath when Colby’s knuckles brushed his stomach, achingly familiar as he undid the button on Evan’s fly, before he unzipped his jeans and his hand worked inside his boxers to wrap round Evan’s dick.  Evan gasped into Colby’s mouth, pushing his hips up, pushing his dick into Colby’s hand, needing to fuck it.  But then Colby was moving down the couch and Evan shifted his hips to help as Colby pulled his jeans and boxers down enough so he could wrap his lips lightly round Evan’s dick and tease him with tongue and and the merest hint of teeth like the rat-bastard he was before finally pushing his head down fully on Evan’s dick.  And it was so good, thrusting up into that heat and wetness and knowing it was _Colby._ Colby, whose fingers were teasing him.  Colby, who was suddenly sitting up and saying, “I don’t suppose you’ve got any lube?”  
  
Colby, who he thought he hated at that precise moment.  “You mean you haven’t?”  
  
And that caused a five minute delay while Colby emptied the contents of three packing boxes over the floor, until he finally spotted the bottle.  And later Evan was going to ask what that was all about but he knew how to prioritise and right now he wanted to prioritise Colby’s dick up his ass, thank you very much.  To which end he’d been divesting himself of his clothes while Colby had been rooting frantically through the crap that had ended up all over his floor, and by the time Colby turned round with the bottle triumphantly in his hand, Evan was beginning to develop a very real appreciation for his new couch - the leather had warmed up nicely under his skin and felt maybe a little too good where he was stretched out on it, moving slowly to get the full effect of it against his skin as he stroked himself.  
  
Colby’s triumphant expression changed, became dark with intent, and then he was making a complete mess of trying to pull his clothes off as quickly as he could while seeming to be all fingers and thumbs.  Evan might have laughed had he not been so impatient.  And then Colby was finally naked, and very hard, and also, hello, lying on top of him.  And that felt very nice indeed, his dick against Evan’s, as he opened the lube and poured some over his fingers.  
  
“Hold that,” he said, giving Evan the bottle.  
  
“Ever the romantic,” Evan said, though he took it because the alternative would be Colby losing precious seconds looking for it next time he needed it.   
  
And God, he didn’t want to lose a single second, not with the way Colby had sat back between Evan’s open legs and his fingers were teasing over Evan.  Then Colby’s fingers were sliding in, moving inside him and he was pushing against them.  He couldn’t stop the sounds that were coming out of his mouth because fuck, this was good and he’d missed it and Colby was way too fucking good at knowing how he liked it, and one or two of those things might just have come out of his mouth as well.  And then Colby was at the lube again, slicking himself up before dropping the bottle on the floor and arranging Evan as best he could on the couch before he leaned over Evan, and pushed in.  Evan’s eyes closed at the slow, inexorable press of Colby’s length into him, opening him, until finally Colby was all the way in.  
  
He looked up to see Colby trembling with the effort of holding still, so he pulled him down into a kiss that turned messy and got lost somewhere as he moved his hips slightly and Colby started to move in him.  Long, slow thrusts that always, but _always_ had Evan close embarrassingly quickly.  Colby was moving faster now, breath coming in pants while Evan was working his dick in perfect time with Colby’s thrusts, and he wasn’t going to last, not another second like this.   
  
Everything stopped, just for that moment, as he came, and then Colby was kissing him again, and pushing inside him again, hard and fast and desperate until he too came.  Afterwards he let himself down carefully on top of Evan, his face against Evan’s shoulder as they both recovered, waiting for their breathing to steady.  
  
After a minute Evan realised Colby’s breathing was no steadier at all.  
  
“Hey,” he said, running his hand up and down Colby’s arm.  
  
“Sorry,” Colby mumbled into him, kissing Evan’s skin before letting out a long unsteady breath.  “I just - I can’t believe you’re really alive.  Really here.”  
  
Evan held him close by way of answer, feeling the warmth of Colby’s body, the way his breathing and heartbeat were slowly starting to come back to normal  – and oh God, he didn’t want to think of the way they’d been stopped, how close he’d come to losing Colby.  
  
“Think we might just have ruined your new couch,” he said, needing to banish those thoughts.  
  
“Nah.”  Colby propped himself up and looked down at Evan, sounding like himself again, and surprisingly relaxed about a couch that must have cost half his mortgage.  “It’s corrected grain, with a barrier protective sealant.”  
  
“Really?  You’ve just fucked my brains out and you’re talking about protective sealants?”  
  
“I thought you liked dirty talk,” Colby said, and kissed him.   
  
Eventually Colby unpeeled himself from Evan, and Evan unpeeled himself from the couch, pausing briefly to swipe Colby’s shirt over it.  He didn’t have quite the same trust in sales patter as Colby did.  And then he noticed that Colby seemed to be having some difficulty bending to pick his clothes up, favouring his right side.  
  
“If you’re like this, should I be worried about whether the jeep’s going to make it?” he asked, picking Colby’s stuff up for him.  “You didn’t hurt yourself just now, did you?”  
  
Colby grimaced as he straightened.  “I had more important things on my mind just now,” he said.  “It’s stiffening up a bit is all.”  
  
“Warm shower then arnica cream?” Evan suggested.  
  
Colby grinned at him.  “You sure know how to sweet talk a guy.”  
  


*****

  
It was kind of inevitable that after a long hot shower and Evan’s liberal application of arnica cream, which he slowly and carefully massaged in to Colby’s skin, they’d end up as they did, with Colby face down on his bed and Evan fucking him relentlessly into his new mattress.  And that was just fine with Colby, sore muscles or no sore muscles.  
  
Lying on the bed afterwards with Evan stretched out in satisfaction beside him, Colby felt so damn happy that he didn’t even bitch too much about being the one who ended up in the wet spot.   
  
“How long have you got?” he asked.  Not that he wanted it to end, but best to know upfront.  
  
“I said I’d head back to see the folks again tomorrow,” Evan said.  “The whole thing really did a number on them.  Can you get the time off and come with me?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, probably,” Colby said.  Don would no doubt be glad to see the back of him, but that thought didn’t really bother him right now.  
  
“Cool,” Evan said, then winced for some reason Colby didn’t get.  “They’ll probably adopt you,” he warned.  “Make you go up for Thanksgiving and stuff even if I’m not there.”  
  
Which actually didn’t sound all that bad to Colby.  Holidays hadn’t been the same since his mom had passed away two years ago.  He knew why Evan had kept him separate from his family, even while they knew about him.  Buddies could drop in and visit one another no problem, but visiting family would be instantly suspicious if anyone from the Air Force caught wind of it.  
  
“If it’s not a dumb question,” Colby said, “Why now?”  
  
Evan propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Colby.  “Life’s too short.  I never really understood what that meant before.”  Then he leaned in and kissed Colby.  “I’m starving.  You want pizza?”  
  
Colby was _always_ up for pizza.  So they ordered in and tested out the couch’s stain resistant properties when it came to beer and pizza toppings, and they talked, and then they went to bed, and Colby thought this was the most perfect evening there’d ever been.  
  
  
  
He jerked awake, eyes opening in the dark and breath coming in gasps, and  Evan was there.  
  
“You okay?” he asked sleepily.  
  
And yeah, Colby was okay now.  He rolled against Evan and held on to him, and dreams of Lancer and needles and a loss so deep he couldn’t bear it faded away.  
  
  
  
He woke up before both Evan and the alarm the next morning, and spent probably longer than was strictly healthy just watching him sleep.  Evan hadn’t said anything about what had happened to him and his team, but he looked tired and pale.  It obviously hadn’t been a walk in the park.  
  
Although watching Evan didn’t seem like it was going to lose its novelty any time soon, eventually the need for the bathroom and for caffeine won out, and Colby pulled on some FBI sweats and went off in search.  
  
He came back in with two mugs of coffee some time later, to find Evan was awake.  
  
“You’ve got clothes on.”  Evan was disapproving.  
  
“I was just talking to my boss,” Colby said.  “I’m not doing that naked.”  
  
“Freak.  So, what’d he say?”  
  
“I’ve got as long as I need, on one condition.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“I’ve got to take you into the office before we head out.”  
  
Evan looked surprised.  “Why?”  
  
“Don and David both want to see you.”  
  
Evan’s eyebrows rose slightly.   
  
“They thought you were gone, man,” Colby reminded him.  “Megan wants to meet you too.”  And Colby had the feeling he might be blushing but better for Evan to hear it from him rather than her because he would tease the everlasting crap out of him otherwise.  “She – uh – she wants to see if you live up your billing.”  
  
Evan’s eyebrows rose further still.  “My billing?”  
  
“Allegedly I might have said something about you in front of her when I was still drugged,” Colby said.  “Here, take your coffee.”  
  
Evan’s eyebrows climbed back down, but Colby was not at all happy with the considering expression that he was wearing as he put his mug down on the nightstand.  He’d have to prevent Evan having any alone time with Megan, that was for sure.  
  
“I think maybe Don also wants to be sure you’re actually alive and that I haven’t finally lost it and gone delusional on his ass,” he confessed as he got back into bed beside Evan.  
  
“You better not be going anything on his ass,” Evan said.   
  
“It’s Don, my _boss_.  Not very likely.”  
  
“Don’t give me that – I know how easy you are, Granger.  I remember you on Hawaii with that cute flyboy.  Though he was devilishly good looking so I guess you’ve got an excuse.”  
  
“Huh.  You’ve got a better memory than me.  Seen one flyboy, you’ve seen them all.”  
  
Evan’s answer was to tackle him down onto the mattress and prove just how untrue that was.  Which definitely hadn’t been Colby’s plan at all.  Not in the least.

 

*****

  
Later, when the coffee had gone cold and Colby was refusing point blank to go get another one because it was Evan’s turn this time, Evan found himself leaning over and kissing Colby.  
  
“I love you,” he said, because if there was anything he’d learned from the last few days it was that you couldn’t wait till later to say this stuff.  
  
Colby’s cheeks pinked and his head ducked.  “You too,” he said somewhat gruffly.  Declarations in daylight were not their thing.  
  
But then he raised his head again and looked at Evan, his eyes steady and clear in the morning light.  
  
“I know you can’t now,” he said.  “But when you can, will you stay?”  
  
“Yes,” Evan said, not even needing to think.  “I will.”  
  
  
  
Evan knew he should be getting up, instead of still lying here next to a dozing Colby.  They had to swing by the FBI office, hire a decent car – he was not driving all the way to San Francisco in Colby’s surfboard-friendly vehicle, thank you very much – and drive up in time to get there for supper.  His mom had sounded thrilled that she and his father were finally going to get to meet his young man.  She’d also said she’d invite Nicola and family round the _following_ day, to give Colby time to find his feet before being overrun.  Evan remembered just how much he loved his mom.   
  
It felt right, doing this.  He was still going to be careful about DADT because he loved what he did and he didn’t want to lose it, but it wasn’t the most important thing.  It never had been the most important thing, but somehow it had seemed to rule everything else.   
  
Life really was too damn short not to make the most of every minute.  Screw that generic sports car he’d been thinking about hiring for the trip up to San Francisco - he wanted the closest thing he could get to a F-302 on the road.  
  
He nudged Colby awake, the thought too enticing not to share right then and there.  
  
“What d’you say to a Bugatti Veyron on the Coast Highway?  Zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds.”  
  
He was fairly certain that wasn’t a whimper of terror he just heard from his medal-winning FBI Agent boyfriend.  He wrapped himself around him to make sure.  And then held on to him, because he could.

 

 


End file.
